December 26, 2015

Re-reading, noticing

I have {finally} been 'most deedily occupied' {it was entirely necessarily for me to use that phrase at least once} with Emma. This is a re-reading for me, several times over, though not recently, and although this isn't a very new or profound observation, it's reminding me that there is definitely something to be said for how very readable our Jane is.

I think {though I'm not positive} that I read Emma for the first time after seeing at least one of the movies, maybe more, so even then there weren't any spoilers, plot-wise. And there certainly aren't any this time, though in a way that's a good thing. Knowing what's going to happen, and when, really does let you skim over that facet of reading, and discover things you hadn't noticed before. As I said, not new or profound....

But happily true. :) This morning, there I was, in Volume II, Chapter 10, where everyone is gathered in the Bates' parlor to see the new pianoforte. Frank Churchill is fixing Mrs. Bates' spectacles, and being a creep and a cad. Emma is mortified, but enjoying all of this too much. Miss Bates is being 'talking,' Jane is stunned by the gift, and replying reluctantly to Frank's taunts about Colonel Campbell, with 'forced calmness,' and then there's this:

Emma wished he would be less pointed, yet could not help being amused, and when on glancing her eye toward Jane Fairfax she caught the remains of a smile, when she saw that with all the deep blush of consciousness, there had been a smile of secret delight, she had less scruple in that amusement, and much less compunction with respect to her. — This amiable, upright, perfect Jane Fairfax was apparently cherishing very reprehensible feelings.

That last line is just delicious in itself. And this is all a clue, though I'm sure I missed it the first two or three times around. I feel less compunction with myself, though, because Emma misses it too.

I hope everyone had a merry Christmas and that the holiday feeling is lingering.:) It feels slightly more December-y here {a foggy Christmas eve, without a coat, was just weird} and I'm looking forward to our winter break and lots of reading.

That is a delicious line but knowing all that was to happen, I still had a vague sense of dread. I appreciate the craftsmanship (craftswomanship?) but it will never be my favorite Austen. Some call this a mystery but it feels like an uncomfortable lack of self awareness to me each time I read it. :)